


Reinforcements

by Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: F/M, Found Family, Gen, Recovery, abusive Joker aftermath
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-08-10 20:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7860298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/Primarybufferpanel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Not looking so hot, Dollface," he said, crouching down to her level. </i>
</p><p> <i>She giggled, or tried to. Her face twisted into a grimace instead and she made a pained little sound as her ribs hitched – broken, he wouldn't be surprised. </i></p><p>  <i>"Good thing you... do, Hotshot," she managed after a long moment.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because this pairing flashed blinky lights at me and said ‘You could make these two broken people be very gentle with each other’ and that is my JAM so here I am, with bells on.
> 
> Warnings: This deals with the aftermath of abuse, injuries and recovery. Also, I have never touched a comic in my life. This is purely movie

Harley was back in her cell ten days later.

Floyd wouldn't actually have known about this - it wasn't like there was a bulletin - but Flag came by and told him. At first Floyd assumed there was a mission, it wasn't like people talked to him unless they needed him to go out and risk his ass in ways other people couldn't be made to do. But Flag said

"..last night. Pretty sure the Joker dropped her off. She's pretty—" he made a vague handgesture, and Floyd nodded, because yeah, Harley was always pretty— well, pretty manic, pretty weird, pretty nuts. Razorblade smile through bloodied teeth, hiding all the stuff she'd rather pretend didn't exist.

"You wanna go for a visit?" Flag said next, and— what? That had never been offered before. They hadn't exactly given the squad encouragement or opportunity to socialise, and for it to just be offered out of the blue... Floyd felt the suspicion form on his face. Stuff like this was never free.

He still said yes though, because he was curious, and bored. And Flag really did take him to see Harley, in her weird, open cage. The moment Floyd caught sight of her he understood what Flag's vague hand gesture had meant.

She was curled up on side on her pallet, facing the bars. He supposed in this open cage there was no safe wall to put your back to. Her hands were drawn up in front of her bruised face, and he tried not to visibly react to how small and vulnerable she looked like this. He'd never seen her without some kind of unholy fire lit on the inside, all loose-cannon grins and kinetic energy.

Well, he supposed this explained why Flag wanted him here? Sort of? They must be worried she'd lost her usefulness. He looked at the other man, but got no guidance apart from being let into the outer fence. Floyd was wearing wrist and ankle chains, but they were more a formality now, not so tight that he had much trouble moving.

"Hey, Dollface," Floyd said softly, walking around her cage until he was close to where she was on her pallet, just a few steps away. Her eyes were open, or as open as they could be, blackened with bruising and swollen nearly shut. Floyd cursed softly.

"Heyy..." she slurred after a long moment. She tried for a grin, one of those manic, devil may care flashes, but she didn't even get close to fooling him. From up close, he could hear the rattle in her breathing, smell the disinfectant and sutures and other medical scents on her. Wondered if she was sedated – it wouldn't surprise him.

She was so  _ still _ . He didn't know what to do with this, what Flag wanted him to do here. Why he was even here. He wanted to make this better somehow, but he knew he couldn't. She'd grieve and she'd heal and the next time the Joker came around— well, it wasn't his business, was all.

He wished she wouldn't, but it wasn't like he could stop her.

"Not looking so hot, Dollface," he said, crouching down to her level.

She giggled, or tried to. Her face twisted into a grimace instead and she made a pained little sound as her ribs hitched – broken, he wouldn't be surprised.

"Good thing you... do, Hotshot," she managed after a long moment, and he found himself smiling at her. They'd only let him use an electric razor once a week, his beard was five days untrimmed. He wasn't exactly looking his best.

He wasn't sure why, but he turned around to sit with his back against the bars of her cage, right against her pallet. It was intimately close, and he realised belatedly it was maybe closer than she'd want to be; he knew she could be weird about people in her space, pressing her body up against somebody for a hug one moment and then darting away the next moment, when they touched her in return. Now, face grotesquely bruised, might be a time she needed space.

But she only hummed, soft and tired but approving, and after a few minutes he felt her fingers lightly trace the side of his neck. Her nails were long, before, filed to sharp points. They were short and blunt now, bitten to the quick. He turned his head a little into the touch, letting her feel it was welcome, and she sighed.

They sat like that for a while, the silence surprisingly comfortable. Floyd knew Flag and the two guards were still present, but they were at at the guard post in the doorway, far enough away to give a modicum of privacy. He figured this must be what Flag was hoping for, because the man was reading a book, giving him time with Harley even though they were just being quiet.

She went still for a while, dozing from what he could hear, but at some point she twitched awake again. The words  _ You're okay, you're safe _ froze in his throat, because she wasn't, was she? She was in a cage surrounded by guards, and Waller and Flag had cleaned up the staff but— that don't mean there wasn't— well, he'd been very aware of how people looked at her, back when they'd been taken out for that first mission. She wasn't okay, and she certainly wasn't safe.

He belatedly identified the uneasy feeling in his gut as protectiveness, and didn't know what to do with it, when it wasn't so simple as pulling her out of the line of fire. Said nothing.

Her fingers began to move again, idly tracing his scalp. It felt nice, and he hummed, tilted his head a little. She huffed an amused breath, followed by a pained little noise, and kept touching him.

"Didn't like the thought of... of doing the next mission without you," he said softly, eyes closed.

She made a little sound of triumphant delight.

A denial crowded on his tongue, a takeback, because that was a hell of a thing he just admitted to—

"You'd  _ miss _ me?"

— but she didn't sound gleeful, as he would have expected; she sounded quietly surprised, maybe even a little puzzled. He didn't have the heart to deny it.

"Yeah, Dollface. I like having you around."

"Mister J always says I'm the... the prettiest thing he has," she whispered.

_ Thing _ . He was glad he'd swallowed the  _ Having you around is much better than looking at Digger's ugly mug  _ he'd been about to say.

 

Floyd felt lost, when it came to Harley and the Joker, to that freakish hold the man seemed to have on her. He knew from the stories that she always seemed to go back, no matter how bad it got. He'd think that the state she was in, the fact that he apparently just dumped her back into jail, might change her mind, but he couldn't be sure of it and he didn't fancy becoming a special target when she reported this conversation. He also didn't know if saying shit about the Joker would only drive her back faster.

"You're not a thing," he finally said. It didn't come out as mildly as he'd intended it to.

She hummed in acknowledgement, and then her fingers slowly went still again. He shook his head ruefully, and when he was sure she was asleep he moved away and got up, alerting Flag that he was ready to go back to his own cell.


	2. Chapter 2

Floyd couldn't stop thinking, that night. Not like he had a lot of things to occupy his thoughts, anyway. What it meant that Harley was back – that apparently the Joker just dropped her off. What, he was so confident he could get her back whenever he liked that he just dumped her somewhere else to recover? And she was going to heal from having the crap kicked out of her – her  _ face _ , Christ, he keeps seeing those black eyes, made worse somehow by the smudges of makeup – and run right back into the Joker's arms when he decided he wanted her again.

And Floyd... what? What was he supposed to  _ do _ ?

He still hadn't figured it out when Flag came back the next day, and again there was no explanation of the purpose of the visit. Just the offer, and well, he was bored, he wasn't going to turn down the offer of a change of scene and the chance to talk to somebody who actually talked back. Harley didn't always make sense, but hey, she was a hell of a lot more interesting than his walls.

She was laying on her pallet again, or still, he supposed, but she was on her back. She seemed a little more lively, head turning to follow him as he walked around to her, a smile on her face. One of her front teeth was chipped. He hadn't noticed that before.

"Hotshot!"

"Hey Dollface. How are you?"

"I'm boooorrrrrred," she pouted, head tilted back so she was looking at him upside down.

"I bet you are," he smiled. Her face still looked terrible, blue and black, her split lip bleeding a little because of her smile. The swelling seemed to have gone down a little though, her eyes were more open, and she was breathing more easily.

She was nothing if not resilient, he supposed.

He settled down on the floor, facing her this time.    
"Don't you have any books?"

She slowly turned onto her side to look at him.   
"I've read them all. Ten times."

"Yeah? Which one's your favourite?"

 

She told him about a man and a woman and some kind of affair and a secret baby, and it sounded like a Bouquet romance novel. Not even a good one, either. (Sometimes the library guy wanted to be an ass and gave Floyd random crap, and fuck, he had no pride, he'll read anything)

She sounded wistful when she described the end of the book, where of course the man and woman and their no longer secret baby lived together in domestic bliss.

"That what you're dreaming of, Dollface? A life like that?"

"Mmhmm," she hummed, nodding happily. "One day I'll have that with Mister J. When he's... when he's ready. And we'll be sooo happy all the time."

_ Sure. Sounds blissful _ , Floyd thought.

"You're making a weird face," she pointed out, imitating his expression.

"Just... doesn't sound like him, I guess," he said carefully. "What if he's never ready?"

Her face crumpled for half a second, as if he took a bullet to the fantasy, and he felt like an asshole.

"Oh he will be," she said then, with a sudden, false brightness. "You don't know him like I do. There's just some things he's gotta take care of first, ya know? Like a bat infestation." She grinned. "Once that's taken care of, ain't nothing gonna come inbetween me and my puddin'." 

"And you're going to have a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence?" Floyd said, trying not to sound as skeptical as he felt. "With two and a half kids and a golden retriever?"

"Yeah!" she said, eyes alight with the dream. He said nothing, and after a few moments she dimmed a little, as if she was thinking it over more. "We're gonna be so happy together."

"Nobody knows my puddin' like I do," she sing-songed under her breath, "He's the only one, the only one..."

Her voice trailed off into humming, and she looked almost blissful, for a moment. He might have smiled to see it if he hadn't been so aware that she was dreaming of the man who'd given her those bruises. 

"So... how did you get hurt? How did you get back here?"

"That ain't Mister J's fault," she waved away his question quickly. "I was stupid."

"Really?" Huh, he'd assumed the Joker— but maybe she'd gone out on one of her jaunts, got into some kind of scrape bigger than she could handle. He didn't know if that would be better or not. "What did you do?"

"I wanted a kiss, but Mister J, he was busy, and— and I was needy, I shouldn't have— when he's working, I know better than to annoy him by being..." she trailed off. Then she rallied, "Doesn't matter—he learned me. I'll know better now."

" _ Needy _ ," Floyd repeated flatly. 

"Yeah, I  _ know _ , it's annoying, and I—I try, I really try, but sometimes… he was working so hard for so long, and I just really—really  _ missed  _ him, and he shouldn't have to tell me—"

 

Floyd'd had a dog, once. When he was a kid. Found it in the street during summer holiday, hiding in a corner behind a dumpster. Coaxed it out with scraps of his own lunch, until it would let him put a string around its neck. Took it home, and his mother had rolled her eyes, but as long as he washed the dog and would be the one walking it, it could stay.

It hadn't gone further than arm's length away from him for weeks, always pressing close, licking his hands or his face, whining anxiously when his attention was on something else. It had driven him crazy, and he could still heard himself shouting  _ 'Get away from me! Stop being so needy!' _

His mother had sat him down, explained that the dog was just scared she'd lose the one good thing in her life, and that if he could have some patience, she'd get better much faster. The longer she was with them, safe and fed and cared for, the more comfortable and less clingy she would be.

(she'd been right, though it had taken some time)

 

Floyd didn't like the idea of comparing Harley, crazy, bouncy,  _ deadly _ Harley with her devil's grin, to his childhood dog. Here was a woman who could bring cities, if she should ever get it into her head to want to. She was not a thing and he was pretty certain way too many people had called her a bitch.

He just... wasn't surprised that she  _ was _ needy, with the way the Joker treated her, pulled her close and shoved her away again, with the way she was never able to trust that the affection she craved would still be there. He was fairly sure the Joker liked it that way.

"Pretty sure that uh," he scratched his head, unsure how long they'd been silent. "Man who doesn't want a kiss from you, there's something wrong with him."

She peeked at him from between her fingers, and for long moments he wasn't sure if he'd said something very wrong or very right. Then she giggled, and the tension broke. 

 

When he got back to his cell not long after, he said,

"Flag, wait a sec?" and rummaged in the box of his possessions. Unearthed a thick book he'd been hanging on to, hiding it from the library guy. Shook it out to demonstrate it was just a book, and offered it through the bars of his cell. 

"Would you? For—"

Flag accepted it, lips quirking in recognition as he saw the cover. 

"Yeah, I'll get it to her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....because another vague plotless series of character moments without clear end is _exactly_ what I need...


	3. Chapter 3

The next day was shower day, and Floyd wasn't surprised there was no Flag, no visit. Inmates were brought to the shower room one by one for a supervised shower and (if desired) shave, and the eight-to-one guards to inmates ratio, and procedures to keep inmates far away from each other, meant that the whole show tended to take all day.

As he was scrubbing himself clean under the unfriendly eyes of four heavily armed men in riot gear, he hoped Waller and Flag had at least come through on the promise to get some female guards for Harley.

Harley had insisted she 'kinda liked giving a show,' but it was hard to tell if that was true or if she'd settled on that as a way of coping, of finding some power in a vulnerable position. She might not even know herself, Floyd figured. Waller had made a note, and Flag's jaw had twitched in a way that suggested there would definitely be some changes.

 

Flag was back the next day. It was later than the previous visits, but he came.

"Surely you have something better to do than act as a prison guard, man," Floyd said, offering his hands to be shackled.

"I surely do," the man said, with something of rueful amusement. "But Waller wants me here to unfuck this shitshow of a prison, so here I am."

"And you do that by supervising playdates?"

"Are you complaining?" Flag said mildly.

"Guess not."

 

"Hotshot!" Harley crowed as soon as he came into view. "I _missed_ you!"

Floyd tried not to visibly react to that open, unfiltered admission, tried not to cringe at how vulnerable it made her. Caring was a liability. If he hadn't had his daughter… none of them could afford weaknesses like this, and they sure as shit couldn't afford to broadcast them to the guards.  

"Hey Dollface," she answered, once he was close enough that not all the guards would overhear. "You look better today."

She was sitting on her pallet, legs curled under her. Her hair was clean and brushed, the last of her makeup finally gone, so she must have had a shower too. Some of her bruising was starting to change colours at the edges, and she had back some of her bounce.

"I _always_ look good," she flashed him a flirty smile, leaning back to strike a seductive pose.

"That you do," Floyd agreed easily, not pointing out that 'beaten up' really wasn't that attractive of a look on her.

She made a happy little thrill sound at that, and got up.  
"D'you want coffee? Bet it's the nicest you've had in a long time!"

Floyd glanced in the direction of the guard post, wondering if they'd object to her handing him things from inside her cage. Nobody seemed interested though, so he nodded.

"Sounds nice."

He didn't used to drink caffeine much, couldn't afford the risk of tremors, but his thrice-weekly firearms practice (Waller wanted the assets to stay sharp) was not until tomorrow. Plus, he had a hunch that Harley wasn't getting caffeinated coffee grounds either.

She busied herself with making two cups of coffee, humming to herself all the while. It was a long, slow process, everything meticulously done, almost like a ritual. Floyd sat crosslegged on the ground to wait, smiling involuntarily at the way the tip of her tongue poked out between her lips.

"Here ya go!" she offered him a cup through the bars, and then gingerly lowered herself to sit on the ground opposite him, knees almost touching his, if not for the bars between them.

"Thanks. How's the ribs?"

She made a face.   
" _Annoying_. Doc said they're not broken though."

"No? That's good."

He wondered when she'd seen the prison doctor, for her to be so calm about it. The only time Floyd had been seen by the man (after a particularly strong 'lesson' from that dirtbag Grimes) they'd gagged him and strapped him down to a stretcher before the doctor came anywhere near him, and he'd spent the rest of the day twitchy and on edge. He doubted that would have been any different for Harley.

She was still for a rare moment as she took a deep breath from the steam of her coffee. He smiled and did the same, appreciating the aroma. It was good coffee, Waller really had come through on that.

 

When she took her first sip she made a happy little noise that sent a shiver down his spine. Floyd looked down, because she could be uncannily good at picking up on the way people responded to her.

"I hope we get another mission soon," she said after a few moments. "I'm so bored."

"I think you have some healing to do before you're going anywhere, dollface."

"What?" she said with a shark grin, "I'm _fine!_ "

"Mm-hmm," he nodded. "That what the doctor said?"

"Sorta," she pouted. "It's just so _slow!_ I wanna _do_ something!"

"Mm. Did you get the book?"

"Oh! Yeah, but it's all.. Tiny people having a party. Kind of boring."

"Stick with it, it gets more exciting once they get on the road. Or you could skip ahead a few chapters," Floyd said.

"Okay." She was quiet for a while, enjoying her coffee, and Floyd realised that at some point they had both moved closer together, their knees so close that he imagined he could feel the warmth of her.

"Isn't this _weird?_ " she asked suddenly, voice dropped to a whisper. "All this—letting us talk? I mean it's real _nice_ …" she suddenly seemed to hear herself, because she got very interested in her empty coffee cup, avoiding his eyes.

Floyd felt a smile creep onto his lips. She surrounded herself with bullshit, with layers of misdirection and artifice. She complimented men and showed off her body, and he was pretty sure she often baited them because being desired - or making them uncomfortable, either was good - made her feel less vulnerable, made her feel like she had some sort of power. Hell, he remembered how often he'd baited guards into giving him a beating, because getting a reaction, even if it was getting the crap beat out of him, meant he could at least affect them. It felt better than being ignored and dismissed.

Point was, she rarely showed how things affected her in return, and he recognised truth when it came out of her mouth. That had been real, and she realised it too.

Floyd felt his hand twitch with the impulse to reach out and touch her knee, to connect with her, just for a moment. _What the hell?_

"Well uh, Flag, he says," Floyd said, "he's here to unfuck—you know, the prison."

Harley giggled at 'unfuck', reaching up to swipe hair out of her face, and to Floyd's relief, the strange moment passed.


	4. Chapter 4

"This was how Waller got your girl, isn't it?" Floyd said when Flag escorted him back to his cell. He'd been thinking about this, about what he was supposed to be doing during these visits. They sure as hell weren't granted out of the kindness of anybody's heart. Hell, he wasn't fully convinced Waller _had_ a heart.

Flag gave him a glance, but said nothing.

"Unstable lady that could be useful to Waller, high flight risk," Floyd summed up. "Throw in some dude to spend time with her, until they bond. Now you can hold them hostage against each other. Stop me if this sounds familiar."

Flag let out an explosive breath and rounded on Floyd, grabbing his wrist shackles to halt him in his tracks, shoving his forearm high up against Floyd's chest to back him against the wall and keep him there. It wasn't a choke, but it wouldn't take much to become one. Floyd braced for a punch, thought he might be able to get a headbutt in, but Flag just leaned in close, voice low and full of frustration,

"You got a _better_ idea? You and I both know the Joker is gonna waltz in at some point and she's gonna go back to that sick fuck for another round of—" he jerked his head back the way they'd come, where Harley's cage was, his fists tightening in Floyd's prison coverall, "—of fucking _that_ , okay? Of getting the _shit_ kicked out of her."

It took Floyd long seconds to stomp down his instinctive fight response, to realise that Flag wasn't angry at _him_ , but at the Joker, at the situation.

"So yeah, this is Waller's hand, you got that right," Flag huffed, full of frustration. "But this morning Harley cooperated with guards enough that they didn't have to taze her into a twitching mess, and a doctor could safely examine her. Because they promised that if she behaved, you'd be around for a visit."

"Huh."

Floyd didn't know how to feel about that. He didn't like being used as leverage against her, not at all. On the other hand, not having her brain fried repeatedly was a good thing. She always seemed much less stable after that happened. 

"And if feeling like she has a friend, like there's somebody who cares enough to want her around," Flag continued, staring at Floyd, "gives that girl even a _second_ of pause before she goes back to the Joker, I'd say that's worth it."

Floyd was still processing the man's vehemence. He knew what Waller's motivation was, but did Flag actually give a shit about Harley for her own sake, not for her usefulness?

"If your precious morals somehow get in the way, I will pick somebody _else_ to spend time with her."

Floyd huffed a chuckle.  
"Like who, Croc Man?" It wasn't like they'd consider bringing Chato out of his cell for something like this, even though he'd probably be good at it.

"Yeah, or Digger."

Now he _knew_ he was being baited, because it had escaped nobody that Harley loathed Digger. But...

"A friend, huh?"

Flag backed off suddenly, and Floyd rocked forward, taking a quick step to recover his balance.

"That's all. Don't tell me it's a hardship to get regular trips out of your cell."

Floyd said nothing. Flag might be nominally on their side, but that didn't mean Floyd was going to volunteer information that could be used to manipulate him or the rest of the squad.

 

The next day Flag didn't come, nor the day after. Floyd began to wonder if the visits were never meant to keep happening, or if this was a way of making them more pliable, making them hope that if they were good, there would be a visit.

The third day he was lead back from his firearms training by five heavily armed guards, trying to ignore their inane chatter, when he caught the low-voiced conversation of two of them behind them.

"Man, I hope Flag stays away. He fucking ruined shower day. Crazy little bitch loves it when we watch her."

"One of these days I'll do a little more than watching, too."

"She might bite it off, but what a way to go, huh?"

He shouldn't, he _really_ shouldn't, but Floyd's blood was boiling all of a sudden, his usually excellent impulse control evaporated and he halted and turned, ramming his shoulder into one of the guards.

"Hey, _shithead_ , you better not _fucking—_ " he bashed his forehead into the man's nose, reared back and did it again, " _touch_ her!"

The sudden shouting of the guards barely registered, but he thought he heard a high pitched scream in the direction of Harley's cell, out of sight but not out of hearing range, and that fired him up further, kicking and shoulder checking and headbutting as much as his restraints would allow. There were running feet, more bodies to hurl himself at, and he _could not stop_.

He heard himself shouting hoarsely— until there was a sudden sting in his neck and a wave of sickening pain and nausea, and then nothing else.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, I'm not so much working on this story, because there's a snag/general aimlessness further along I'm not closer to solving. But I already had this bit written so you're getting it. Sorry about the non-updateyness/uncertainty if this is continuing. I really need to stop starting these vague aimless feelsey stories that have no clear resolution unless I make them 15k, because I clearly do not have that in me at the moment

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Youkaiyume for soundboarding this with me and egging me on :-)


End file.
